


Remember Me (Why Can't You Just?)

by flipflop_diva



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Memories, Memory Loss, Natasha Feels, Natasha Needs a Hug, POV Natasha Romanov, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Red Room (Marvel), Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you remember me?"</p><p>“No,” he said, and his voice sounded so sure, so certain. “I don’t.” Her heart dropped into her stomach. She felt the room sway.</p><p>As though to hammer it in harder, make it hurt more, he kept going. “I don’t remember you at all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Me (Why Can't You Just?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).



> Written for Meatball42, as part of the GenEx 2016 fest. 
> 
> Meatball42, all your prompts were really interesting to me, especially the Bucky & Natasha and Tony & Natasha ones, so I wanted to explore some of them. I'm not sure if this is anything like you had in mind, but thank you for the inspiration, and I hope you enjoy!

He was sleepy, she could tell, the effects of the cyro still affecting him even now, even after the days it had taken to travel across the Atlantic, back to the base. The doctors said that wasn’t unusual, that he needed time, that it was a big adjustment.

Steve had wanted her to wait for this, told her to wait, stopped just short of ordering her to wait, but she had waited too long already. She had to know. She figured Steve should understand that.

She stood in front of Bucky — in front of _James_ — making sure she was in his direct line of sight. She kept her arms down at her sides, her fingers loose. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her blood rushing through her veins, but she kept all expression off her face, kept all tension out of her body.

She made sure her voice was quiet when she spoke, but her words were clear, firm, commanding. She was going to make sure he listened to her.

“Do you remember me?”

He stared at her, blinking, incomprehension in his eyes. He was still getting used to being awake again. Confusion was normal, the doctors said. She didn’t care (Steve said she should care. But Steve didn’t know everything she remembered. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him, not before she talked to Bucky, to _James_ ). She just wanted to know.

“Do you remember me?” she repeated.

He blinked again, tried to look around her like he was looking for help, but she didn’t move, didn’t let him see anything else, the doctors or Steve, who she knew was in the back of the room. She had told him to stay out; he had told her this was the only way he’d let her do this.

“You’re Steve’s friend,” he finally said.

“Yes,” she said, “but that isn’t what I mean. I want to know if you remember me.”

Another blink, this one slower, more drawn out. 

“I fought you,” he said finally. His voice was hesitant. “A long time ago.”

Something jolted inside her, but she forced herself not to show it.

“Yes. Do you remember when?”

Bucky frowned, consternation across his face, like it was painful, like she was asking too much.

“On a street,” he said. “You were with Steve.”

Something passed over Bucky’s face at that. He looked almost proud. Natasha felt the sliver of hope she’d had a moment ago drop into the pit of her stomach. She felt nauseous. 

“Before that,” she said. “Do you remember me before that?”

Her voice came out more desperate than she meant it to, more pleading. Quickly she pressed her lips together, as if that could take it back, prevent anyone from hearing it. 

Bucky titled his head. This time she watched his eyes travel up and down her body, landing on her face and staying there for a long time.

“Should I?” he finally said.

“You tell me.”

“No,” he answered, and this time his voice sounded so sure, so certain. “I don’t.” Her heart followed the sliver of hope she’d once had, dropping into her stomach. She felt the room sway.

As though to hammer it in harder, make it hurt more, he kept going. “I don’t remember you at all.”

•••

Tony was the one who found her, hidden away in an empty room that once used to house supplies but now held nothing. She was sitting against the back wall, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around them.

She didn’t know how long she had been there, only knew she had stumbled from the room Bucky was in, not bothering to look back.

“Natasha!” Steve had called after her. “Nat!” But she hadn’t answered or slowed down. She’d just kept going, trying to get away.

But there was only so far she could run in a base that was created just for them.

“You okay?” Tony asked her now. He dropped down beside her without waiting for an answer. It was the closest he had been to her since they had all regrouped, since he’d arranged with Ross to let them all come back, Bucky included. 

Things weren’t fixed between any of them by any means, but they were working on it. They were all working on it. Lots of mistakes had been made, on all sides, but the awkward silences were better than the hate that had been present before they had all gone their separate ways. 

“I’m fine,” she said, and she even sounded fine to her own ears, but they both knew she was lying.

Tony took a moment before he spoke, his voice quiet in the tiny room, like he was unsure of what he was about to say. That in itself was disconcerting. She never knew Tony to be at a loss for words. 

"He doesn't remember killing my parents either,” he said, not looking at her. “The doctors say he maybe never will."

Natasha leaned her head back, let it rest against the wall behind her. “Do you still want to hurt him?” she asked.

“Do you?”

She shrugged. “I just want him to remember me.”

“Will that make it better?”

“Will it make it better if he remembers killing your parents?”

“No,” Tony said. He turned his head to study her. His eyes almost looked tender. She looked away. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see that from him. 

He continued. “But it would mean I’m not the only one who has to deal with the pain.”

“Yeah.” Natasha closed her eyes, waited a few moments. 

“Steve wants him to stay,” she finally said. “I don't know how to be okay with that." She didn’t add that she also didn’t know how to tell Steve no.

"Yeah," Tony said. "I don’t either."

Natasha kept her eyes closed. She felt numb. She wasn’t sure if she was more angry or disappointed or hurt. 

Next to her, she felt Tony move, felt a hand suddenly slide into hers, found her fingers being squeezed. She wished she could tell him thank you for sitting with her, for being there, for trying to comfort her, but the words were stuck in her throat. Instead she just let him hold her hand, and hoped that was enough. 

•••

She hadn't remembered James at first. Actually she hadn't remembered for a long time. Not when he shot her in Odessa nor when he shot her again underneath a DC overpass. Not even when she peeked through his file before she handed it to Steve at an empty grave. 

She hadn’t actually remembered until she was lying on a table, her legs still wrapped around his neck while a metal hand tried to choke the life out of her. And then words were spilling out of her mouth before she even realized what she was saying, before she even really remembered herself.

“You could at least remember me.”

And then suddenly it was like she hadn’t been on that cold table, trying to convince Steve’s best friend in the whole world not to kill her. She had instead been back in Russia, in a room surrounded by stone walls and with stone floors, and the same man, the one with the metal arm, was throwing her to the floor, over and over and over.

“Again,” he would order as she struggled to her feet. “Again.” Until she could barely stand, until her blood covered the floor, until the only thing she could hear was the screams and the sobs of the others from somewhere in the distance.

But she never cried. She just looked into his eyes, defiant, strong, daring him to break her. 

“Again,” he told her, and she climbed to her feet once more.

•••

“He trained you,” Tony said to her what seemed like hours later. They were still sitting side by side in the dank room. She felt like she might never be able to move again. He didn’t seem to want to.

He asked the question in a quiet voice, but it didn’t sound like a question. She wondered briefly how long he had known, how he had possibly known when she had just figured it out herself. She had told Steve the week before that she thought she remembered Bucky from her time in Russia, but she hadn’t said anything more. She hadn’t told anyone else.

“Yes,” she said, instead of asking him how he knew. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “I think so. I’m not sure. It’s not very clear in my mind.”

“He doesn’t remember at all.” Another non-question.

She shrugged. “I was young then. He’s had a lot of missions.” Like those were reasons to not remember his fingers around her neck, pulling her upright from her bed at night, shoving her against a wall.

Tony squeezed her hand again. “I heard you cry,” he said.

Her head whipped around, a protest on her lips.

“You were having a nightmare,” he continued before she could get the words out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She stared at him, not sure if she should be offended, if she should feel violated. Instead he inched closer to her, wrapped his arms around her. He’d never hugged her before, had definitely never held her.

She dropped her head to his shoulder, the weight of it suddenly too much to hold up. 

“I can’t tell Steve,” she whispered. “It will kill him.”

Tony’s fingers found the back of her head, slid through the strands of her hair. 

“It’s okay. You can tell me.”

•••

“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” Bucky said to her two nights later. He cornered her in the kitchen after everyone else had wandered off. He looked better now, more awake, more aware. She had watched him laughing earlier with Steve and Sam, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Maybe he didn’t now that the Hydra triggers were removed from his brain and his memories of his time with them were seemingly gone.

She let her shoulder drop in a one-sided shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Steve says it’s a big deal. He says it’s important to you that I remember.”

“Steve says everything is a big deal.”

He titled his head, as if to look at her better. “I want you to tell me,” he said finally. “I want to remember.”

This time she laughed, a small mirthless sound. “That’s ironic,” she said. “I wish I could forget.”

•••

“I can leave.” 

It was two weeks later. Nothing was better. In fact it was worse. Natasha had always prided herself on the fact that she wasn’t scared of anything, but she couldn’t train with him. Every time the light glinted off the metal of his fingers, she was five years old and aiming a rifle at a blonde girl she once giggled with under the covers because he told her she should kill her.

Steve had stopped trying to follow her when she fled from Bucky’s presence. She had stopped showing up in places she knew he would be.

The nightmares were getting worse, each night drawer her deeper and deeper into a past she wished would just leave her alone. Tony had taken to sleeping with her, to holding her hand as the nightmares played tricks with her mind. She didn’t have the strength to pretend she could handle it alone, not when he was the one bright spot in her life.

But she wasn’t a quitter. She didn’t run from a fight. And the one thing the man with the metal arm had taught her when she was young was that she was also a survivor.

She held her head high now and looked at him, managed a smile even. “No,” she said. “You should stay. Steve wants you to stay.”

“You don’t want me to stay.”

“I’ll be okay with it.”

“If you’re sure.” Bucky’s metal arm raised, like he wanted to touch her. But he changed his mind, lowered it back down. “Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “but we’ll figure it out.”

“Will we?”

Would they? They had to, right?

She smiled. “Of course.”


End file.
